Madison drove Tommy’s car to the coast, all the way to Santa Monica Beach, where she found a place to park and headed out toward the sand. She preferred Malibu, but it was too far a drive and she still had so many loose ends to attend to.
With her future looming uncertainly, she was desperately in need of some guidance. The calming rhythm of the waves with their continuous rush and retreat always helped to remind her just how small and insignificant she was in the big scheme of things.
In just eighteen years, Madison had managed to live two distinctly different lives. Like dramatic before and after shots, one bore little resemblance to the other, and yet, the past would not be defeated. Madison felt just as lost, alone, and unsure as she had a decade ago. She had a gun in her bag and she knew how to use it, but she no longer had Paul to shield her from the aftermath.
She walked along the shoreline, enjoying the feel of her toes sinking into the sand. The small pebbles slipped inside the bandage that covered her ankle, causing the grains to rub against her skin, abrading her flesh, but Madison paid it no notice. For all she knew, this could turn out to be the last time she enjoyed a pleasure so simple. She had a plan, sure, but there was no way of knowing if it would actually work.
Her first trip to the ocean, she was eight years old on her way to meet her new family in Connecticut. Paul’s mom, Eileen, had taken her, and Paul had caught up with them during the latter part of the journey. Madison remembered the way they’d led her down to the water—how she’d shrieked and squealed in delight when the small swells raced up to cover her feet, before retreating and leaving a froth of bubbles behind.
She also remembered overhearing bits of their conversation when they thought she wasn’t listening. How worried they’d been about her ability to adjust to her new, upper-crust world.
Or at least Eileen had been worried. She’d even waged a good argument to keep Madison behind in West Virginia, but Paul wouldn’t hear of it. “She’s not like us,” he’d said. “She’ll be fine wherever she lands. Holding her back would only delay the inevitable.”
At the time, Madison had taken his statement about her not being like them to mean she was special, maybe even superior.
But over the last few months she’d done enough reflecting to conclude Paul hadn’t meant that at all. He’d been referring to the moment Madison had pressed the piece of burning wood to her flesh—how her tears weren’t the result of losing her parents, but from the sheer joy of being released from that life.
Paul had watched her with a conflicted look of admiration and fear. When he’d referred to her as different, he didn’t just mean she didn’t feel things the same way other people did. Paul had gone so far as to question if she felt much of anything at all.
She knew why he’d think that, but she wasn’t heartless, not even close. Sure she may have used people from time to time to get what she needed, but she felt terrible about what she’d done to Tommy. She felt even worse about having suspected Paul of plotting against her, especially after having discovered the truth.
She wasn’t a sociopath. It wasn’t that simple. In her professional life, she easily conveyed a wide range of emotions and was often lauded for her ability to summon whatever response a director required. In her personal life, it took a lot for her to trust anyone enough to feel empathy. Funny how the price of being famous was the same as living a lie—requiring her to keep everyone at arm’s length, and never run the risk of exposing herself.
Despite what Tommy might think once he realized what she’d done, she knew in her heart she cared deeply for him. Still, driven by her own desperate need to save herself and the life she’d created, she’d crossed a line Tommy would never forgive, and it wasn’t like she could blame him.
A small child ran past, flying a kite and laughing gleefully as he stared up at the sky. Madison dipped her toes deeper into the tide and watched as the water rushed over her ankles and soaked through her bandage.
It’s time.
The words rang in her head as though they were whispered from across the ether. But Madison recognized the sound of her own inner voice telling her it was time to finally confront the person who’d kidnapped her.
It had taken a while to piece it together. But while Tommy had been breaking into the Vesper, Madison took advantage of his absence to use his laptop to follow a hunch. She’d spent the previous night investigating the lead, making sure she was right. Though her findings had surprised her, in retrospect she realized she should’ve known all along.
She waded in farther, allowing the waves to break against her shins and wet the hem of her dress before she slowly made her way back toward her car. Stopping to unwrap the now soggy dressing that covered her ankle, she paused near a trash can to dispose of it and send a quick text from her phone.
Sorry I ran. I know who’s behind this. I’ll explain when I see you.
Faster than expected, she received a reply.
Where & when. You decide. Just glad you’re OK.
A moment later Madison replied:
Griffith Park—view of the Hollywood Sign.
After all, what could be more symbolic than a place that honored both kinds of stars?
She took a steadying breath and patted the side of her bag, seeking assurance her gun was still there. Then, with a quick tap of the key fob, she unlocked Tommy’s car and settled in.
She’d just fastened her seat belt and was starting the engine, when she caught a trace of a sweet yet slightly cloying scent.
Startled, she turned just as someone rose up from the backseat and smashed a cloth hard against her face.
Her fingers tore at the rag, trying to rip it away. But the chloroform worked quickly, rendering her helpless against it.
Last thing she remembered was staring helplessly into the rearview mirror and meeting her attacker’s gaze.
“You!” She struggled to speak but didn’t get very far before the whole world faded away.